Confident that everything was being taken care of, Berman turned his attention back to the view and to his reverie. “A day’s hard work is its own reward,” Eli Berman had probably said once a week over the course of his whole adult life. He was distressed that his son couldn’t seem to settle on anything and failed to appreciate what Eli had learned in the decades he had given to his paint business. Berman smiled. He far preferred being at 51,000 feet in a Gulfstream jet to any satisfaction gained from a day’s manual labor.
Zachary absentmindedly played with his wedding band. The coming weeks were vitally important to his enterprise and billions of dollars were at stake, yet his wife and children, who should have been more involved in his triumph, were in New York City, barely aware of Zachary’s work and the role he was playing in the fantastic evolution of nanotechnology. Zachary had wanted children, or so he thought, but he found domestic life as humdrum as he’d found corporate law. Ever since he’d been a child he’d been addicted to challenge and creativity. He couldn’t stand status quo and predictability. He’d broken his wedding vows many times, even with Whitney Jones on a few occasions, and he’d come to think of his own family with little sentiment above and beyond the need to provide for them in an appropriate manner.
“Work is its own reward,” Zachary silently mouthed contemptuously. It had been another, similar one of his father’s dictums. “Somebody should have told that to Jonathan,” Zach added. Jonathan had been Zachary’s beloved younger brother, the one who could play baseball, and Eli’s obvious favorite, who had died in agony from bone cancer, the failed treatment proving to be even worse torture than the disease.
“No, Dad, the reward is whatever you can take, whenever you can.”
Zachary changed when Jonathan died. He’d always pushed himself, but after his brother’s demise he had become supercharged, and had started to be reckless. He left Wall Street when Jonathan had been diagnosed, and Zachary helped Jonathan run their father’s firm while Jonathan was being treated.
Unfortunately Jonathan’s aggressive cancer was not to be denied, and he died within four months. As if from a broken heart, Eli, who had developed rapid-onset dementia, followed quickly, leaving Zachary, a cynical and ambitious man, in charge of a moderately successful company that was poking along with seemingly little upside.
As a gesture of respect to his brother and his father, Zachary gave himself six months to make something of Berman Painting and Contracting, taking on the challenge at sixty miles per hour. He cut prices aggressively, hired more crews, and immersed himself in the details of the business, looking for some angle that might persuade him that it was worth his time. When Zachary found an article about the possible uses of nanotechnology in paint he almost didn’t bother to read it. Paint was paint was paint. What relevance could it have for him when he was busting a gut trying to establish a foothold over the competition in northern New Jersey?
But Zach did read the article, particularly a section about research into the use of carbon nanotubes in paint that could block cell phone signals in a concert hall. He read the piece again and quickly went on to read all he could find on nanotechnology. Zach was convinced this was fertile ground that was virtually unexplored and certainly underexploited. There was so much about nanotechnology that he didn’t understand, but the potential was obvious, exciting, and challenging. In college he’d steered clear of chemistry, math, physics, and even biology. He now regretted it. He had a lot to learn, and he applied himself with the zeal of a starving man having stumbled into a grocery store.
Within weeks, he had sold the business at a healthy profit and given all the proceeds to Jonathan’s widow, and with that he felt he had fulfilled his obligation to his brother’s family. When his mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s some months later, and Zachary realized nanotechnology might possibly offer some hope, he felt thoroughly vindicated. Suddenly he was consumed by the promise of nanotechnology in the medical realm. What if he could cure bone cancer as a fitting tribute to his late brother? And what about his mother? Could he help her? Why not? With nanotechnology the sky was the limit.
Zachary felt a light pressure on his arm. It was Whitney. As she leaned in to whisper, Zachary smelled the fetching perfume she wore as well as her personal pheromones, and the scents conjured up a brief but welcome image of her long, toned body stretched out on a bed.
“They’re all set,” Whitney whispered. “We’re landing in forty-five minutes.”
Zachary nodded and stood up and stretched his arms, shoulders, and legs. His clothes — black T-shirt and blue jeans — fit tightly over a muscular body. Zachary was health conscious, particularly after Jonathan’s sudden illness and demise and his parents’ dementia. Even when he was busy, which he always was, he found time to work out and eat healthfully.
Berman freely admitted he’d become something of a hypochondriac, and he regularly took advantage of the fact that Nano employed a number of doctors. What consumed Zachary was the fear that he would suffer the same Alzheimer’s dementia he witnessed in both his parents as they descended relentlessly into total helplessness. Hoping to reassure himself, he had himself tested for the apolipoprotein E4 gene associated with an increased risk of the disease. To his horror, the test had the opposite effect. He’d learned that he was homozygous for the gene, a factor that increased his risk, as did the fact that both his parents had had it. For Zach, his interest in medical nanotechnology became a personal obsession.
“Time for our little speech,” said Zachary, and he followed Whitney toward the rear of the plane. Seated in leather armchairs similar to his were three Chinese men attired in carefully tailored Western-style suits. In a jump seat in the very rear of the plane was a large and serious-looking Caucasian man whose bulky jacket concealed a variety of airplane-safe weapons: a Taser, knives, and a rubber truncheon. He had never had cause to use any of these on a trip such as this because the main cargo was very secure. Four figures in shapeless brown jumpsuits slumped in the facing banquettes. The plane’s manufacturers may have designed the seats and table for a card game or a meal on a long flight, but Zachary had found the arrangement perfect for his purposes. The four, three men and a woman, were shackled together and chained to the table. They were unconscious, having been tranquilized when they had reached altitude.
Berman and Jones stood side by side. Zachary spoke and Whitney translated into her perfect Mandarin for their Chinese guests. Her fluency in the language was one of the reasons she was paid more than a million dollars a year.
“We will be landing at our destination shortly,” Berman said. “Please follow our representative into the vehicle that will meet the plane. We will proceed directly to the research plant, where you will be staying in very comfortable accommodations. Our luggage will follow us to the facility.” Berman motioned to the four passengers with his head, including them as part of the plane’s designated cargo.
“We are entering a very exciting phase of our partnership. As we advance together toward our common goal we must focus on the end objective that we have all identified, toward which we have been working so hard.” Berman paused and waited for Jones to finish. He finished in Mandarin.
“Welcome to Nano.”
The men nodded and muttered a greeting of their own. They seemed nervous, aware of the responsibility the secret branch of their government had placed upon them.
Berman resumed his seat, steepled his fingers together, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes. For the last few minutes of the trip home, he wanted to think of the best reason he could for getting back to Boulder. On the trip out to China and even as he was conducting his vital business, his mind had been preoccupied by the same thoughts… Pia Grazdani.